The answer to your fears
by HaushinkaWasHere
Summary: The pool incident has changed something in the ex-soldier's mind. John's eyes are empty and lost. Sherlock is worried. He has to know what's in Doctor John Watson's mind. Multi chapter, SH x JW and some sex scenes.
1. Chapter 1

"**THE ANSWER TO YOUR FEARS"**

_**By HaushinkaWasHere**_

_Hello everyone! This is my first fanfic (multi chapter fanfic, YAY!), and I'm trying my best. I've never done this (and with this I mean writing fanfiction and writing a little bit smut) but I wanted to put in words all the ideas I had in my mind about this wonderful series (There will be more smut scenes along the story, I swear.)I promise I will get better in this through the time. Fanfic inspired in a song that will appear soon in this story. Hope you like it! Review and tell me all the things you like or disliked! I'll be glad of hearing them. If you've got any question or suggestion, just tell me._

_I don't own Sherlock, I wish I could, but it's the masterpiece of Godtiss and Moffat (of course, the original one belongs to Conan Doyle)._

**Chapter 1**

A silent and confident nod. One look, a gun pointing at the only exit.

"Probably my answer has crossed yours"

Then silence. And waiting. Waiting for the unknown. For the unexpected. Trying not to think of all the things that could possibly happen when the trigger is pulled. Trying not to think of all the things they could lose.

.oOoOo.

Neither of them speak in the taxi taking them home. Words seem inappropriate, even absurd when they have been so near to death. The Semtex didn't explode. Moriarty wasn't going to put himself close to such a danger. He was clever, brilliant even. A brilliant psychopath. Mycroft's men hadn't been fast enough; they were outplayed and Moriarty had escaped.

The living room has a warm light, making the flat cosy and welcoming. Tonight it is shrouded in silence.

Sherlock lies on the couch, his eyes closed and his fingers interlaced below his chin, thinking rapidly, replaying the evening's events. John sits upright in his chair, his hands clasped tightly on the armrests, his eyes open but looking blankly at the wall, tired, and… is that confusion?

Sherlock takes another glance and sits up suddenly to look directly at John.

"You all right?"

No answer.

"John, are you listening?"

The eyes of the ex-soldier widen a little, and John turns to fix his gaze in Sherlock, with a neutral face.

"Yeah. Fine, everything's fine" His voice is lower than normal, hoarse, without life.

"I'm not sure about that" says Sherlock softly. "You seem tired." Trying to show that he isn't worried about the strange behaviour of his flatmate, the detective adds, "You… you should go and have a warm bath and get some sleep. It's been a long night."

"Yes, yes, you're right, John replies distantly. "I'm just… I'm going to do just that" And he gets up slowly. The bathroom door closes and the silence falls again.

Sherlock is left looking at John's empty chair. This isn't normal. He can always tell what John thinks, what he is worried about, why is he happy, or sad, or angry. His face tells him, like an open book. But not this time. _Maybe it's just tiredness_ the detective thinks to himself. _Maybe he's in shock. He needs a good rest. Tomorrow he will be the same John he was a few hours before all this happened. _

Sherlock feels the frustration of not knowing. He is a consulting detective, he has an answer for everything. He has to have the answer to catch Moriarty and help John. He has to do everything to achieve that last thing, at least. He needs to discover what is in Doctor John Watson's mind.

.oOoOo.

The white lights of the bathroom invade the small room and make him see himself reflected in the mirror. His face is emotionless, his eyes empty, surrounded by deep purple circles. His mind feels foggy and sluggish. Like an automaton, he strips off his clothing and turns the taps. He will have a bath, just as Sherlock suggested.

_Sherlock_… with that word, he sees himself again in the mirror, observing the spots where the Semtex has been situated, pressing hard into tender flesh. Shakily, his fingers try to trace over the faint marks on his chest and shoulders, the bruising already forming from the too tight straps. But his hands drop away. He doesn't want to remember, he doesn't want to remember the mix of feelings he had the moment he saw Sherlock enter the swimming pool. Or when he saw the red points in his flatmate's chest. 

The tub is full now and the doctor gets in, sighing, and letting the hot water work in his body, relaxing, trying to comfort him, trying to make his bad thoughts disappear. His head leans back against the tub edge, watching the ceiling, attempting to banish the feeling of emptiness and fear he has because… because of what? Only he knows. That's the problem. Only he knows.

With eyes still open, his hand moves slowly down his chest, passing across his belly and touching lightly his cock. His hand is warm and firm as he starts teasing his growing length while his other hand strokes across his chest, carefully avoiding the Semtex bruising. His fingertips play with his left nipple, making it flush and harden. His breath becomes irregular and his manhood bigger now. His eyes are still on the ceiling, with the same expression, lost in his thoughts. His erect cock is tight in his hand, and he starts to move, using his thumb on the head of his erection, making him moan low. The other hand continues to glide across his chest, teasing his well-built abdominals, making waves of pleasure go through his body. The grip and velocity of his other hand has increased, his breathing is completely irregular now. His thoughts are still invading his mind. Moriarty. Bomb. Gun. Danger. Fear. Sherlock. Sherlock…

"S-Sherlock!" he moans softly when he comes, his heart beating wildly. His eyes more open than before, still looking up.

A sigh. His hands free now. He feels the same. The brief rush of pleasure hasn't done anything, hasn't made his mind switch off.

So he continues watching the ceiling for a while. Minutes, maybe hours. Then, with no expression in his face, gets up and abandons the tub. His steps are silent, the sound of his bedroom door closing behind him is inaudible. The only noise he can hear is in his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello, friends!_

_I'm sorry for the waiting, but I had a lot of work and my free time disappeared, so I couldn't write a word. Here it is the second chapter of **"The answer to your fears"**. The first thing I want to say is that I apologize because of the grammar and vocabulary mistakes I made in the first chapter. I'm not English and I'm still learning this wonderful language, so now I've got a good friend that helps me with the translations: special thanks to you, my first reviewer, you're incredible =)_

_And, of course, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all the people that has reviewed my story, put it in story alerts and in favourite stories. You have made me really happy with your comments (Lyricoloratura and Meredithriddle, an enormous hug for you two). Well, now, after all this agreements and apologies, let's begin with the second chapter of **"The answer to your fears"**. Hope you like it and, please, stay awesome!_

_**HaushinkaWasHere**_

**Chapter 2**

The London sun is pushing through the window curtains, showing its warm light for the first time in weeks. Sherlock hasn't even noticed. His mind is racing, working to solve the puzzle named John. He has been awake all night, hoping to hear a noise, a door closing, steps, a breath, a word, even a tear, from the bedroom upstairs. This is not Sherlock's normal behaviour. He has never worried about anyone previously.

_But, in fact, that's because I've never had anyone to worry about_, he thinks.

He's often judged to be a sociopath by those around him who have only observed his outward mannerisms. He isn't a psycho-sociopath, or whatever those damn people say. He knows who he is. He knows he's just different from others, and he's proud of it.

However, he's still surprised about this completely new feeling, this feeling of helplessness.  
>His mind continues waiting. He's absolutely sure that John's night hasn't been all sweet slumber. He can imagine him, in bed, with the bed covers untucked, laying flat on his back with open eyes, observing the ceiling or maybe nothing. Lying there with nothing but a blank expression on his face again. What's happening inside him? Is he still shocked?<p>

_Of course not!_, the detective thinks.

The Moriarty event was a terrible experience, but not at that level. At the end of all, John is an ex-soldier. He has seen and lived a thousand things worse.

Then, what is it?

_Is all of this about feelings? It's the only possibility that fits this whole situation_ the consulting detective confirms to himself.

Unfortunately, he isn't an expert on that unknown and complicated world of feelings. It's not something he has been able to study or experiment on.

But feelings about what? Is it fear? Fear that the bored psychopath will return? It's so obvious that Sherlock is sure that isn't the reason of the doctor's strange behaviour. Is he afraid at the thought of Moriarty catching him again and making him wear another Semtex vest? No, Sherlock doesn't believe that. But what if something else happened that night in the swimming pool? What if Moriarty did something to John before he got there at midnight...?

Sherlock glances at the kitchen clock for the umpteenth time. Just before nine o'clock, Wednesday morning. John should be leaving the flat to go to work at any moment, but he hasn't even risen from his bed. The detective thinks for a moment and gets up, leaving the violin on the armchair, his last thought still weighing heavily on his mind. He goes quickly upstairs and stops in front of John's bedroom door, his hand shaking, waiting in the air, doubting, not sure if he should knock or enter directly. They are flatmates and best friends too, but Sherlock thinks it isn't a good idea, so his hand raps lightly on the door. On the other side of the door there's only silence. A second knock, stronger this time. The silence is the only welcome. Sherlock bows his head, his eyes closed with worry. The third knock is accompanied by his voice.

"John! Everything all right?"

A few seconds without answer.

"Yes, Sherlock. I was just asleep." John mutters, his voice low.

_Liar_ thinks the detective.

"Do you know what time is it? You should have gone to work ten minutes ago!"

"I know, but I don't feel very well today. Could you please phone Sarah and tell her I'm ill?" The doctor's voice was so raw and far and... empty.

"You aren't ill, John."

"Can you just do that, Sherlock? Please?"

"But... alright, I'll call her. But, at least, can I come in? I prefer talking to a person, not to a door."

"I want to be alone"

Sherlock is worried and he is tired of not knowing what is wrong. He steps closer to the door, his voice rising.

"Damn it John, what's the problem? What's going on? What's happening to you?

"I am fine Sherlock, now please go and call Sarah," answers the doctor with the door still closed.

"Don't lie to me, you know you can't!" The detective's voice increases as he begins to lose his temper, something that rarely happens. "Is it because Moriarty did something to you apart from the Semtex? Did he touch you?" He finally said it.

Silence, then steps sound loudly before the door opens. An angry face with deep circles appears in front of Sherlock.

"Go away" says John with a cold voice.

"But... John... I'm so-..."

"GET. THE. FUCK. AWAY!"

The door closes with a terrible slam. Sherlock stays in front of it for a few seconds, eyes wide open, blaming himself because of his lack of sensibility. How can he say something like that in such a way? Maybe all the people around him are right. Maybe he isn't suited to live with anyone. Maybe he's the world's worst sociopath...

.oOoOo.

John hears Sherlock heading slowly down the stairs, then complete silence. He's still standing by the door, leaning his forehead against it. He can't believe what he just heard. Sometimes he doubts the deductive skills of the consulting detective. Does he really think that's what happened? He moves and goes back to his bed, sitting with a tired sigh. He knows he shouldn't be angry with Sherlock, he is just trying to help him. In fact, he seems really worried about John's problem, something new for both of them, if they're honest. John can't stop thinking.

_I want to tell him. But if I do... he will do all kinds of stupid things that would put his life in danger. And I can't allow that._

John starts as another rap sounds at his door. He hadn't even heard Sherlock climb the stairs.

"John, look, please. I'm really sorry. I'm an idiot, I shouldn't have said that. I apologise."

John can't even talk when he hears Sherlock's raw voice.

"I... I know you haven't eaten a thing in nearly two days, so I'll order some Chinese for lunch, and I promise I will eat too. And there's some hot tea downstairs, I've just made it fresh. It's ironic, yes, I've finally done something productive and normal in our kitchen." Sherlock chuckles softly and John can hear the smile in his voice.

John wants to open the door and say all the things he's been keeping inside since that moment in the swimming pool. But instead he squeezes his eyes tightly closed as tears flow down his cheeks.

"Please, John, say something. John, please..." Sherlock's voice cracks.

The detective's feet move slowly back down the stairs and John continues crying, curled on the bed, hugging himself now.

_I can't, Sherlock... I can't_

_No smut in this one! Sorry, I promise I will make those two get better and... in sexier situations ;) _

_Review, comment and enjoy the continuation of "The Answer to your Fears"._


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello, my dear friends! _

_It's been a long long time since the day I posted the last chapter, I'm sorry for being so slow writing, but I've got my reasons. In this last months many thing have happened to me, and one of them (I know you want to read the story and make me shut up, but I need to tell you my excuse) was the fact that my lovely granny has passed away recently. I have been so... sad and I had no strength to even open my computer for nearly a month, I don't know why. I felt devastated. So please, forgive me for not update sooner, but it was impossible to me until today. This chapter is quite different to the others. It's a longer one, and it has references to one of my favourite songs ever (it's the one I talked about in the first chapter, and it's the one that inspired me in this story). I'll put the title and the link to the video at the end notes of the chapter. I think things get more interesting in this one. And one last thing and I will let you continue with the chapter: thanks for all of the reviews I've received and the story alerts. It's SO AMAZING you have done so many! I love you all! By the way, power0girl , I'm thinking about the thing you said to me in your review, that one about "choose your own adventures book". It's quite interesting, we'll soon talk about it, thank you so much! :3 And, of course a great, especial and enormous THANK YOU to my new beta reader **AnimaBaya**.Thanks for making this possible! I really love the way you work. You're adorable :) So, now, I let you read the third chapter of "The answer to your fears". Thanks and enjoy!_

_**HaushinkaWasHere**_

* * *

><p><p>

**Chapter 3**

"Any good news? Has he left his bedroom?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson"

"Has he eaten something?"

"No, Mrs. Hudson, everything's the same."

"Nearly two days with an empty stomach... That's not a good thing. Maybe if I talk to him..."

"He won't listen, Mrs. Hudson, it's the only thing I'm sure about right now"

"Oh, sorry..."

Sherlock stops looking through the window, and stares at Mrs. Hudson with a tired and helpless expression.

"Don't be sorry, Mrs. Hudson. You're really kind for asking, seriously. Thank you... for worrying about him."

"Not only about _him_. I'm worried about you too. You both are acting the same way"

"It's just-" Sherlock's voice cracks. He has to relax. He can't permit Mrs. Hudson see him in such a way. A sad smile fills his mouth. "It's just that, for the first time in my life, I don't know what to do."

He hears Mrs. Hudson's steps come nearer and feels her hand on his shoulder.

"Everything will be fine, Sherlock. You're doing alright."

"I'm doing nothing for-"

"You're doing everything for him."

Their eyes meet. All that he can find in Mrs. Hudson's eyes were loyalty and honest words addressed to him.

"Give him a little more time. He has something that maybe he can't tell you now, but after a while, he might be able to. Just wait a little more, darling."

She hugs the tall man, giving him all her warmth and love. It is then that Sherlock, for the first time in years, feels tears fall in his face. Little tear drops that make his grey eyes brighter. Tear drops that make him hug this lovely woman tighter. Tear drops that make him wish more than ever to have his John back...

.oOoOo.

"_If you run with him, I will catch you._

_If you run with him, I will catch you._

_If you run with him, I will..."_

"CATCH YOU!"

A shout in the dark. John's breathing is irregular. His forehead was wet, as was his T-shirt, as well as his eyes.

"Catch you... catch you..." he murmurs, trying to stop his panic attack.

His heartbeats are unstoppable, filling his whole body with noisy thuds that have no rhythm. It was just a nightmare. His body was betraying him again, like every time he closed his eyes and felt the darkness surround him. His head goes back to the pillow. The light tries to make its way through the window. It's sunny in London, but cloudy in his life. He catches the sheet and covers his face, still repeating the words "catch you... catch you..." in his mind.

.oOoOo.

Smoke everywhere. The moon makes the shadows less scary. It's so big today.

_ John would like seeing it. He told me once that the only thing he missed about Afghanistan was the long nights, sleeping outside, waiting nervously for the enemy, but keeping calm while watching the moon. Talking to it, making him feel safe and less alone. But in London; there is something impossible with all those lights. He always complains about that. Well, John. Your wish has come true. _

Sherlock thinks, and sighs taking his cigarette again. The nicotine patches were useful for cases, but not for feelings. Breathes in. Grey smoke enters his system. Breathes out. Doubts and fear exit. But they come back, even if he doesn't want to. And those doubts make him find thoughts he had hidden a long time ago. Like the one which was the cause of his bad sleeping habits in a part of his life. Yes. That one that talked about everyone he knew, and loved had gone away in the end, filling his mind with doubts and hate for himself, and with a lonely idea: "What is wrong with me?" He thought he was the cause, the only black point in a white wall. And now he thinks that maybe he was right, because if it wasn't for him, John would be...

_*Beep, beep*_ Text message.

"_Would be dead"_

_-MH_

"_Stop spying on us. I don't need you"_

_-SH_

"_You sure? Just want to help you"_

_-MH_

"_No. You just want to know every detail of my life. So please, stop. Now."_

_-SH_

"_Sherlock, I'm your brother."_

_-MH_

"_Only when you want to. And now I'd like to rest a little bit."_

_-SH_

"_I'm trying to discover what happened to John that night, Sherlock. Don't think I don't care."_

_-MH_

"_... _

_Anything?"_

_-SH_

"_Not yet. Sorry."_

_-MH_

He sighs. Even with all the London CCTV's at his service, this task seems impossible, even for Mycroft Holmes.

"_Have you talked to him?"_

_-MH_

"_I tried. But he isn't going to leave his bedroom anytime soon."_

_-SH_

"_Have you arrived to a conclusion?"_

_-MH_

"_If I had, do you think I'd be like this?"_

_-SH_

"_I'll call you if I find any news"_

_-MH_

_ You won't _he says in his mind. He turns off the mobile phone. He doesn't want to be bothered. He wants to keep thinking, and smoking, and... and calling himself a coward because of not going upstairs, take John in his arms and hug him tight and don't stop until he says what happened to him. The smoke fits well with the moonlight, even in a night like this one.

.oOoOo.

Three AM. Sherlock's in the same position as before. His gaze lost in God knows where and forming silent words with his cupped lips, maybe incoherent ones. Like an automaton, he goes to the shelf where all the books and CDs are. He has listened to all of them like a thousand times. All of them... except one. Except that one he barely touches, because when he does, it means things are worse than expected. It means he needs help. Urgent help. And that's not a good sign for the only consulting detective in the world. So, he takes the CD and puts it in this laptop, turning on the loudspeakers and waiting for it to start. He knows John isn't asleep, so he doesn't worry about the volume. He goes back to his site, standing up in front of the big window, watching the dark empty street while a sweet guitar sounds at last. Soft chords that make him close his eyes and sigh loudly. That familiar raw voice says what he is expecting.

_ Pass me that lovely little gun..._

He stares at John's gun, which is resting in the little table next to him.

_My dear, my darling one..._

He barely touches it with his fingertips, remembering all the times John has saved him with those bullets. Like in their first case, when he knew, at that point, that life without John was impossible now.

_The cleaners are coming one by one..._

"_You don't even want to let them start"_ he sadly sings, and sits down again, still facing the window.

_They're knocking now upon your door. They measure the room, they know the score..._

He drinks from the little whiskey glass he's got in his right hand, and in the other shakily one rests the gun, pointing to the floor.

_ They're mopping up the butcher's floor..._

"_Of **our** broken little hearts_"

Sherlock's eyes open wide at the sound of that voice. The only voice he'd wanted to hear in these passed days. A dark silhouette stays next to him, with an strange smile in the face.

"John..." He murmurs, paralyzed because the little blonde man was right there, where he wants him to stay forever. By his side.

_ O, children!_

"John, you're here"

_ Lift up your voice_

"I love the sound of my name when you say it."

_Lift up your voice_

"I missed that. You calling me. I've missed you, Sherlock..."

It is just a mere whisper what is exiting from his lips.

_O, children!_

The soldier moves softly, staying in front of the glassy eyes of the detective, locking onto them. Blue and grey, sea and cloudy day.

"Hello, Sherlock"

_ Rejoice, rejoice_

"Hello, John. Hello"

The pale hand cups, frightened, the darker-skinned cheek of the doctor, rubbing it really slowly.

_ Forgive us now for what we've done..._

"I - I didn't want to bother you. You wanted to be alone, but I didn't want you to feel like that, because I'm here for you. I – I've always... I've always been. But... John, I didn't. Know. What. To do." His voice breaks and breathes hard, trying to keep calm. "I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry..."

John thought one day that seeing Sherlock Holmes weak would make him feel a little bit superior. Now he knows he was completely wrong. He wants to make it stop; He doesn't want to see him like this never again, like a lost child who doesn't know where life starts and where it ends.

_ […] Here, take these before we ran away..._

"You mustn't be sorry. You. Are. Perfect. Have you heard me? You have made far more than you think with just your presence. You have completed me since the first day. And I'm sorry for not telling you before. I didn't even notice until I really needed you. So, please, forgive me."

His raw voice is deeper than usual. It's full of sadness and of... fear.

_ The keys to the gulag_

"Please" Sherlock grabs John's face completely, getting closer to him. "Please, John. Say it" Begs Sherlock, looking straight into his soul, telling him everything with his eyes:

_ I'm worried about you; I've missed you; I will help you with anything you have to deal; Trust me; I can't stand your hurt look, I want to make it disappear; I was starting to think that you were going to leave me here and never come back; I owe you so much; I appreciate you so much..._

_ I love you so much._

John's eyes close and his mouth becomes a line, trying not to cry. He grabs Sherlock's head too, curling his fingers in the dark soft hair of the taller man, and making their foreheads press together, sighing at the touch that makes the whole world around them disappear.

"_We have the answer to all your fears..." _Sings, deeply, John, bruising just a bit Sherlock's cupped lips with his own, slightly touching them, and enjoying the sensation.

_ It's short, it's simple, it's crystal clear..._

The ex-soldier separates before Sherlock tries to make the kiss come true.

_ It's round about and it's somewhere here..._

John wakes up, and then, not shaking any more, Sherlock's palm rests in John's chest, while he repeats "It's somewhere here" looking deeply at him.

_ Lost amongst all our winnings_

Without breaking the eye contact, John makes his way to the gun Sherlock is still holding, taking it and putting it again in its place, on the little table near the window. Then, he extends his arm, with an offering hand to Sherlock. His eyes look bright, still empty but shining at the end of all. Without hesitating, thin hands take carefully the other's, and the detective gets up slowly, without a word. Because it wasn't necessary. There are moments when you need no words to say everything.

_ Poor old Jim's white as a ghost. He's found the answer that we lost..._

"This part is ironic. We should change the name, shouldn't we?" said Sherlock, in an attempt of getting a little smile from his best friend. The soldier giggles, just a small chuck, but it's enough for Sherlock. It's like they're keeping each other alive.

_We're all weeping now, weeping because there ain't nothing we can do to protect you..._

Sherlock's fingertips tighten its grip around a little more around John's hand, looking even deeper in him if it's possible.

"I can, and I will, do anything to protect you. Even if you don't want me to. I will find the answer to your fears." says Sherlock.

As if he heard nothing, John lowers his head, but his chin is accurately pushed up softly with one of the detective's fingers.

The rhythm of the music changes and the voices have more feelings than before. Just as their hearts.

"Come here, John."

_ Hey little train! We're all jumping on. The train that goes to the Kingdom..._

Sherlock rounds his arm around John's waist, pulling him closer, and moving at the lyrics which are making them shake. It's in this moment when the soldier can't pretend he's fine any more, and his head crashes into the taller man's lap, hiding a cry, and holding the other so tight... like he doesn't want the detective disappear. Like if Sherlock was his wall, the only one that makes him not fall again. So they dance, because they're not going to let each other fall.

_ Hey little train, wait for me! I once was blind but now I see..._

The doctor continues crying, sobbing, and with every sob the detective holds him even more closer, bruising his back, still dancing down the light of the moon.

Sherlock can stand it no more and he speaks.

"John, I can't continue like this. Please, tell me. Tell me what you've got. Trust me. I won't make you hurt. This is... this is killing me. We both can go against the world if it's necessary. But not if you don't let me in."

The soldier faces Sherlock, still with his arms around his neck. Tears go down his cheeks, ending in the taller man's fingers.

" Sher – Sherlock. I – I can't..." his voice cracks. "I can't lose you."

Sherlock's eyes shine with all kind of feelings. He can't believe he has heard this. He's waited so much time... John continues , still sobbing.

"If... If some day, something happens to... to me, promise me-"

"Nothing is going to happen to you-"

"PROMISE. ME... Promise me you won't do anything stupid, and you will take care of yourself."

Sherlock was shocked. What was thinking John about? Moriarty has threatened him, that's clear. But... What the hell is he going to do?

"I'm letting anyone – Ah!"

The good doctor has pulled the detective back in his armchair, and now he's in the top of him, sitting in his legs, facing him, and smelling so good... Then, suddenly, John grabs Sherlock's cheeks and kisses him. Hungrily. Passionately. Tenderly at the same time. Both mouths full open now, sharing tongues, getting in each other's warmth. Sherlock puts his hands in John's hips, making the distance invisible. One kiss after another, non stop. Both hearts jumping with joy; their hands curious about their bodies, trying to touch every inch of skin, trying to make feel the other safe.

As suddenly as it started, it stops. John presses his forehead to Sherlock's, who's looking directly into the doctor's eyes, still shock in them. Heavy breaths fill the room.

_ Hey little train, wait for me! I was held in chains but now I'm free..._

After some minutes of silence and confessions through the eyes, Sherlock, finally says:

"I- I promise."

John lightly nods, and gets off of Sherlock, standing up and going to the door. The detective looks all the while at him, until the short shadow returns him the look. That's when Sherlock follows him, taking the hand he had just been offered again.

_ And the train ain't even left the station_

_Hope you've liked it! Of course, I think you're able to deduce what's going to happen in the next chapter, aren't you? Yeah, it starts with an S and finishes with a T, turn on the imagination! Thank you all for reading this, rate, review and ask me any petition or question you want! Stay awesome! The song is Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds "O Children" (link here http(:)/www(.)youtube(.)com(/)watch?v=ilTSnKa2NrA ) Eliminate all the brackets when you copy the link, please. It's an amazing song I needed to put in Sherlock and John's lives *wink* By the way, can you imagine what comes in the next chapter, no? Yes, my little pervert minds (just kidding, you know): smut. Lovely smut. Well, I love you all! Review and make your petitions if you want to! Cheers!_


	4. Chapter 4

_It's been a really long time since I last updated this story! And I'm so sorry for that. Everything has been incredibly complicated in the last year and I found no time to continue, that's why I want now to retake this. Another reason is the reviews and fellow followers I earned with this one. I had them abandoned, I want to apologize for the waiting. I hope you still want to read what is John's secret, and in what way that will change both of their lives. So thank you so much for the waiting and for coming back to read chapter four of "The answer to your fears"._

_**Haushinka**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

John's shadow on the wall of the stairs makes the way to the bedroom less scary. Even beautiful. The moon doesn't even shine as bright as him... Sherlock follows him, taking the steps slowly, still the music on, making his heart melt every time he sees his flatmate move rhythmically, feeling those sharp singed words in his own body, as if they were written just for them both... He, finally, takes the last step, leaving the external sounds far behind. Nothing else matters. The only thing that exists that night is that bedroom. That bedroom, John and him. That's all. He closes the door, softly, still watching John's figure move unconsciously, still humming the song. His movements are so slow, showing his hurt with them. He's looking straight at the detective now, waiting, with patience, next to the closed window. Sherlock takes a few steps, making the distance noses are nearly touching, and their gazes are fixed one into the other's.

"Why didn't you let me know?" asks John.

"What are you referring to?"

"You know perfectly what I'm talking about" he says softly, with the truth written in his deep blue eyes.

"I thought you weren't ready yet. I didn't mind waiting a little longer, you were worth it" The tears in the shorter man's eyes make their apparition. "But when I... I saw you like this, all lost and silent, like a dead man, I couldn't help it. I felt... so frustrated, I wanted to take you in my arms and calm you until you said what was going wrong, because the only thing I wanted was to make that fear and endless sadness in your eyes disappear. You are the only one for me, John Watson. Nobody has ever been this close and this important in my life. You changed it all. And I would never let anyone hurt you"

The doctor was shaking, uncontrollably, looking straight into Sherlock's soul, tears rolling down his face. He raises his arms, and takes the detective's face between them, stroking those high cheeks which had always made him smile. The hands of the taller man remain now in the other's hips, making the distance now invisible.

All of a sudden, the doctor stands on tiptoe, and merely touches the dark haired man's lips. But, this time, he doesn't let the other go away. He takes the back of his head and waits, getting nervous with anticipation. Finally, their lips meet, just a gentle kiss for the first time. Eyes closed, lack of breath, only their mouths engaged, mixed, just pressing one against the other. Feeling the height difference, Sherlock makes the shorter man go up on his feet, making the doctor feel even more protected, overwhelmed, "safe and sound". They both know they could be in that position forever. Their lips try to move, carefully, but taking the passion one step further. The doctor opens his mouth, letting Sherlock's tongue inside, making the kiss deeper and warmer. Slowly… but fastening… More and more and more, gasping around, letting the hands go wild following their mouths rhythms, letting the moans leave them, forgetting to care about what the other would even think about those sounds, getting lost in the lust, in their bodies… Just them both against the night, that one they don't want ever to end. Sherlock makes their way to the bed, in the nearly full darkness of the night, the shadows as the only witnesses of their little secret. John lies on the bed, and Sherlock is on the top of him. For a moment the dark haired one breaks the lip contact and looks John in the eyes, seeing him breathing heavily, the surprise in his blue eyes, watching the detective carefully, expectant, hungry, but most of all… lovingly. It's then when the taller man wraps his arms tighter around his doctor, his friend, his lover, **his **_**John**_ and hides his face between the blonde man's neck and shoulder, burying his nose, showing him how he can make him feel secure, showing him how much he wants him to be back, to forget his fears, whatever they are, and just trust him the way he did before all the pool situation. Feels a hand in his curls, merely shaking, touching him as if he was the most fragile thing in the world.

"My John" he murmurs against the neck flesh, leaving soft kisses, and having the idea of biting that tanned skin of his just a little… The gasp the doctor makes encourages Sherlock to do it again, and again, and a bit harder, in other points, using more or less teeth, mixing the tongue… The shorter man was a mess already. His breathe was completely irregular, and there were no sign of his blue eyes, they were completely dark with lust instead. The doctor's hands aren't shaking now. He takes Sherlock's shirt buttons, one by one, under the powerful gaze of the detective, the quiet and aroused detective. With an inaudible "plop" the shirt is removed, and the perfectly pale torso of the detective is showed to John, being all incredible just in front of him. The temptation is so big for him, he can't even stand it. With quickly movements, the blonde man incorporates and makes Sherlock sit on his lap, taking the role, touching all the way his detective's torso, caressing it, kissing, licking, tracing irregular figures with his fingers, getting to his nipple and making the pale man throw his head back, with a face expression of completely pleasure, letting a moan fulfill the entire room. John looks at the most erotic scene he has ever seen in his life, making him even harder… and hungrier. Sherlock lowers again his head, looking at the doctor as he never has done before… with desire, as a hungry animal.

His lips at John's ear: "I want to feel you from the inside". Bites the earlobe. The game begins…

"This is not fair, Doctor Watson…" breathes Sherlock as he makes the good doctor lay again on the bed, ripping his shirt off. John notices how Sherlock is looking directly at his scar, so tries to face the other side, embarrassed of his defect, of his mark. A mere grip at his chin makes him face that curly hair again to receive the sweetest of the kisses: one on the lips, one on the scar.

"Sherlock…" he says tenderly, his heart jumping of joy, of love for that mad man of his. His personal and favourite sociopath. His only consulting detective in the world. _**His**_.

Sherlock smiles at him and continues with the doctor's belt and jeans. It was a difficult job to do because of the prominent bulge in John's crotch, but not a real problem for the great detective... Sherlock starts caressing John's erection without taking off his pants, teasingly, first with his hand, then rubbing his nose and lips against it. The younger man can even notice the wetness through the fabric. They are both panting, feeling the arousal running through their entire bodies.

"S-Sherlock. Trousers. Off. Now" John isn't even able to form a normal sentence. His demand is accomplished by a nearly furious Sherlock for having to separate from John's arousal. In a few seconds he was on top of the shorter man again, completely naked for the doctor's delight. Sherlock's slim and long cock is so hard John doesn't know how it doesn't hurt (more or less as his). It's in that moment of getting lost in his own thoughts when Sherlock goes further, taking out the army doctor's cock, stroking it with his hand. John cries in ecstasy, enjoying Sherlock's touch as if it was the best feeling in the world. The detective's eyes drink from each of the shorter man's reactions and moans, feeling his desire and making his erection painful. His mouth enters the game... He licks the head of the good doctor's cock... A shiver goes through his entire body, catching his breath and making him moan as never before.

The taller man takes John full in his mouth, the warmth of his making John open aggressively his eyes for a moment, just to shut them again, trying to regulate his breathe and not to come right there, right now. Sherlock's cheeks are almost obscene while sucking his full length. The blonde man takes Sherlock's head, mixing his fingers with his messy curls, following the upside-down movement of the detective's head.

"Oh God, Sherlock..." he says in a heavy and quickly breath. If he doesn't stop he will finish very soon... The dark haired man increases the velocity, using his tongue at the same time. "Oh-h-h my... S-Sher... I-I..." With an almost painfully erotic plop sound, Sherlock stops working on John's cock, making the shorter man sigh desperately at the lack of contact. The delay is short. Sherlock goes on top of him, kissing him repeatedly, while his hand goes to his entrance... It's then when John's teardrops start falling, one by one, non-stop.

"John, John, John! Are you ok? Are you feeling uncomfortable?" says Sherlock looking very nervous, not knowing what to do in this situation, trying to comfort his lover and make his tears stop.

_No, Sherlock, of course I don't. This is the thing I wanted the most _thinks John, trying to stop crying. Only he knows the reason of those tears.

Sherlock takes off a few tears with his finger. "You aren't ready for this, are you? I should have thought about it... How stupid, stupid I-"he can't even finish his sentence, because the good doctor, with his eyes still full of tears, has both of their cocks in his hand, together, touching them both completely. The blonde man starts moving, creating a wonderful friction, inviting Sherlock to move, to feel, to end this, together, trying to make him understand that he isn't crying for not being prepared. He's been prepared for this since the first day he saved Sherlock's life. He's been ready to love Sherlock since the very first day he knew he was falling for him. Moans, still looking Sherlock directly, saying everything he can't express with words to him. Sherlock follows the movements, taking John by his hip, moaning softly at the friction, at the feeling of having John so close to him, so intimately close. He understands John's gaze. He's always understood it, and now more than ever. Leans down his face, touching the shorter man's lips, kissing him tenderly while the velocity of their movements increase. Sherlock feels so arousingly intoxicated with John's touch he could die. Between gasps, merely a whisper, the good doctor speaks:

"I- I love you, S-Sherlock" tightening his grip in both of their cocks, moving his hand faster, putting his free arm around the detective's waist, groaning louder, closing his eyes in pure ecstasy. Sherlock starts kissing John again: lips, cheeks, neck, ear. He stops there and whispers, breathless, trying not to moan in his little speech

"I l-love you, John W-Watson, ugh!" an erotic growl exits his mouth without noticing, biting his doctor's earlobe. He can't get enough of John's moans, which are now out of control, sounding erratic and sexier than anything. Sherlock won't last any more if he continues hearing the ex-soldier like this. "You're m-making me go m-mad. Oh, God, J-John...!" manages to say. The doctor's moans increase, near Sherlock's ear, feeling the precum wetting both of their bodies.

"Y-yes, John. C-Come for me" says the detective.

He can't stand it anymore. Faces the doctor again, watching his flushed cheeks, his chest moving upside-down so fast. With Sherlock's words still in his mind and a few strokes later, John cries in ecstasy, shutting so hard his eyes, letting the hot waves of pleasure fulfil his body. Sherlock comes as well almost immediately while seeing his lover end, feeling the warmth of their releases in his chest, seeing it running through John's fingers. He sighs, happily, trying to regulate his breath, lying his forehead against John's shoulder, kissing it slightly. The doctor's arms wrap around his body in a lovely way, burying his nose against Sherlock's neck.

"This is far more better than I imagined" says, muttered by the taller's skin. The detective kisses his cheek and smiles, naughty.

"So you imagined me in such a way with you? What a pervert you are, Doctor Watson" chuckles softly, joining John's laugh as well. "I've never been this close to anyone. I don't want to be this close to anyone else". John smiles even with his eyes at his words, trying not to cry again. A single tear runs down his cheek.

"Sherlock, I don't want to lose you" his voice cracks, making Sherlock kiss him desperately, trying to heal his pain.

"Why would you lose me? You're never going to lose me. Nobody could do such a thing" It's at this moment when John can't handle it anymore, and cries hard, sobbing, letting all the pain out in the shape of teardrops, hiding his face in Sherlock's chest and hugging him tighter, his whole body shaking. Sherlock's arms take him, one of his hands caressing his cheek, trying not to cry as well. He hates seeing John like this.

"John, you can't continue like this. I can help you. I'm sure I can. But I need to know, I need you to trust me. Please" begs nearly cracking his voice. John's body tries to be even closer to his, so the detective strokes his back carefully while giving him the sweetest kisses in the world in his hair and forehead. Hugs him tightly, and starts singing softly, whispering, trying to make the poor doctor relax, trying to make him stop shaking and crying.

_Well, I've never been a man of many words, and there's nothing left to say that you haven't heard (...)_

The doctor's shaking decreases under his touch and voice. But he still notices his tears fulfilling his eyes. He gives the shorter man another kiss.

_But I'll sing you love songs 'til the day I die... The way I'm feeling, I can't keep it inside (...)_

The sobbing has nearly disappeared, and now the doctor's face isn't hidden anymore. He lays it on the detective's chest, listening carefully, relaxed by the baritone's voice.

_I'll sing you a sweet serenade whenever you're feeling sad_

John chuckles at this point, as well as Sherlock, who touches the tip of his nose in a caressing way. The blonde man shuts his eyes, enjoying Sherlock's scent, recording this melody in his mind to keep it forever, whatever happens...

_And a lullaby each night before you go to bed._

Notices the shorter man falling slowly asleep. Smiles at this picture, knowing he's the luckiest man in the whole world.

_I'll sing it to you for the rest of your life. The way I'm feeling, I can't keep it inside. No I can't keep it inside._

Leaves a tender kiss in John's hair, and mutters: "I love you" before a sleepy John Watson manages to say "I love you too, Sherlock".

The detective closes his eyes, hugging John tighter, and falls asleep with a little smile in his lips.

But the only blue eyes of the bedroom open suddenly after a few minutes. John gets up, like an automaton, carefully to not wake Sherlock up. Puts on a t-shirt, grabs his mobile phone and goes to the living room. Touches the video camera icon...

-oOoOo-

Sherlock's eyes start opening to find his bed empty. Yawns and smiles, thinking _He'll be making breakfast again, my poor boy. I should make it one day and surprise him. _He rolls back to the opposite side and jumps at the touch of something in his cheek. A mobile phone. John's mobile phone. He sits down in the bed, mobile phone in his hand and looks carefully at the second thing left in the bed: John's old name tags, the ones he used to wear in the army. Sherlock takes them shakily, aware that something is wrong. He unlocks John's phone to see it has a video to display. He presses the play button.

Their living room appear, only with a light. It's midnight. _He recorded this while I was asleep_ Sherlock thinks. He continues watching, when John appears in the screen. The doctor sits down on his couch, not looking directly at the camera, clears his throat and looks up, fear again in his hollowed eyes. At this point, Sherlock starts weeping.

"_You know I've been behaving strangely since the pool incident. I want to assure you one last time that you have done nothing wrong_" his voice cracks, stops and tries it again. "_You're the most perfect human being I've ever met. I know, I completely know, that you are_-" sobs and lets one tear run down his cheek "_That you are the love of my life. And I will never let anything bad happen to you. Tonight has become the best moment of my life, Sherlock. I've been waiting for you to tell me for a very long time. But you were worth it, that long or ever longer. You're worth always._" A sad chuckle sounds from his mouth. "_Maybe you think I'm an idiot telling all this stuff, all this romantic film thing, but I'm going to tell you something, Sherlock: this idiot you're seeing here, this fool is completely in love with you_" his voice is a mere whisper because he tries not to crack again. He's looking at his feet "_That's why I have to go. Now I can tell you, I can give you the answer to my fears._" Looks at the camera, his eyes full of tears. "_Moriarty made me the worst threaten he could have ever done. No, he didn't touch me, he didn't do a single physical thing to me. He just spoke to me. He told me that_-" catches his breath, and tries again "_That if I didn't become his __**pet**__ and leave you here, he would kill you. And I'm sorry, Sherlock, but since the first day I met you I promised to myself to let that never happen_" Smiles sadly. "_This is the most heartbreaking decision of my life_-" starts crying inconsolably, hiding his face between his hands and sobbing violently "_I'd love to have died right there, in that bed you're sleeping now, Sherlock, with you by my side. That would have been the best thing in the world. I didn't want to wake up with tears in my eyes seeing your smile while you were sleeping. I didn't, Sherlock. But I want you alive_" says, his voice being a mess of tears and sobs "_Please, I don't want you to make any stupid thing. Don't try to find Moriarty. Don't try to tell Lestrade or your brother. Don't do a single thing. Let me solve the case this time, Sherlock_" says with his eyes still wet, begging "_Make it for me, my love. The only thing I want is to keep you safe and sound_" The sound of a door opening makes John face the other side of the living room, give a quick nod and look again at the camera. He starts crying again, without sobs now, his voice a whisper "_Don't ever forget how much I love you. And I will_-" breaths and continues "_I will bloody miss you... Goodbye, my Sherlock_" He looks broken at the camera while somebody ends the video without being showed at the image.

The phone falls down the floor. Sherlock's fists are white while he grabs the tags fiercely. His eyes are full of tears, his eyebrows frown with anger. His whole body is shaking. John was trying to save him from that psychopath. He has been suffering all this time because he didn't want Sherlock to know, he didn't want him dead, he preferred to be tortured and go live a life full of terrible tortures as well with that mad man than to see Sherlock hurt or dead. He loved Sherlock so much he preferred to be dead in life, to make his own existence a hell. Nobody touches or threatens John. Nobody can manage to do such a thing before beating Sherlock. He has to save John. **His John**. His grey eyes look dark, still full of tears. John needs him. Moriarty has entered a game he can't even imagine what will deal. Still sitting down in their bed, still shaking, only a word full of anger and revenge exits his mouth:

"Moriarty"

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><p><em>I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for the waiting, and for all the lovely comments and favs. The next chapter won't take me this long, I don't want to be like the Sherlock usual hiatus. The song Sherlock sings to John is extracted from "August: Osage County" soundtrack, the one Benedict Cumberbatch sings (and oh God how he sings it, I nearly died!)"Can't keep it inside". Thank you so much again; I'd love to hear your opinion about this chapter. See you in the next one! And, yes, there'll be more smut along the story, I promise. Love 3<em>

_**HaushinkaWasHere**_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello again! Fifth chapter of the fanfic, yay! This waiting was shorter than the last one. First of all, thank you for the sweet reviews and follows, you're all lovely. Second, thanks for still being here, reading this. You can't imagine how important that's for me. So, I'm doing a short introduction today. Just a warning before I go! Maybe you'll need a tissue... Or two. Things get angsty! Enjoy!_

_**HaushinkaWasHere**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

He feels his eyes burning, the darkness of the room hiding his tears. By this time Sherlock will be aware of everything. _For God's sake, please, Sherlock, do for once as I tell you_ he thinks, wishing the detective trusts him this time.

He has been avoiding weeping in front of anyone on the way... But the thought of not seeing those grey eyes again made it so hard not to cry. He holds his breath as new tears fall down. He has to do this to protect him. He doesn't cry because of the torture this is going to suppose for him or the sacrifice it really is. He cries because of the life he will never have. He had imagined proposing to Sherlock in so many different ways, all of them ending up in a big "yes" signed with a kiss. He had dreamt of them just walking down the street, holding hands. He wanted to grow old with the man he loved the most and die both at the same time. He thought they could even adopt and be a happy family. He saw the years running but neither of them getting tired of running their fingers over their bodies, feeling always like the first time they did. He cries because he now knows that this could have been possible. A life together. He had given his own to that mad detective of his: his days, his years, his secrets, his memories, his fears, his love... Everything. Just to let that tall man fulfil him entirely. He was Sherlock. Sherlock was him. They were one. They _were_ one...

"Johnny boy! Daddy's here!" says a familiar voice, nearly singing the sentences. Gets closer to him and pouts, mocking on John. The ex-soldier doesn't look at him.

"Crying again? I thought in the army they _deleted_ those actions from your vocabulary. It didn't work on you, it seems" he says, taking his chin with one hand, obliging him to look at Jim, Westwood suit combined with an empty gaze. "I bet he's crying like a baby, blaming me. You left him after fucking him, didn't you, _pet_?" he says, a disgusting smirk on his face. John's hands are shaking, trying to avoid the need to delete that smirk out of that face with a single punch and a few bullets. Jim goes away, sitting on one of the many chairs the room has, whistling at John.

"Come here, pet! I want to play with my new toy. Let's find out what Sherlock likes so much about you".

John gets up, like an automaton, blank expression. His tears are getting dry on his cheeks. He walks towards Jim, fighting internally trying not to shout or show any emotion that the bastard could enjoy with whatever he was going to do to him. Hi standing was military. His eyes... dead.

-OoOoO-

A punch on the living room table.

"For God's sake! Stop being a child for once and eat something. You aren't helping him with no eating!" Mycroft's voice sounds fearing, angry as a thunder.

Sherlock's smoking, laptop in front of him. He seems absent of the world, just worried about typing the correct codes to find any clue that could make him save John. His fingers seemed to work automatically. His eyes were red because of the lack of sleeping, his face paler than usual, his weight decreasing by moments.

"Don't make me switch it off" says Mycroft, not warning anymore.

He looks up at his older brother. "Have you got anything?"

"I've got my best men working on it day and night" he sighs and rubs his temples. "Not a single thing"

Sherlock looks at him, not showing any kind of emotion. He's just, after all, a man who's heart has been ripped out of him without permission.

"He's going to torture him. He'll be probably doing it now. And you pretend me to eat and sleep as if nothing happens?" His voice is a mere growl, sounding low and cutting.

Mycroft sighs as he tries to say "I'm not pretending anything, I just-" His words are interrupted by Sherlock's fist hitting the computer. He gets up, slowly, walking towards Mycroft, but not facing him.

"He's out there, God knows where, with a psychopath by his side, having him at his mercy. He's the most important person in my life and he has been obligated to live a hell of a life and beg me to not go after him, just to keep me safe. I have no clues or anything to start with. And you are shouting at me for not eating in three days instead of moving all the British bloody Government to help you find that man? Maybe you are the one acting like a child. Now, if you excuse me, I have to save a life" says, taking his coat.

Mycroft's hands are shaking in his umbrella at those words. He looks down and whispers: "I'm sorry"

Sherlock's not facing him, but his elder brother doesn't need to see his face to know he's crying. As his shoulders start moving uncontrollably and the sobs become quicker, the older man leaves the umbrella, letting it fall down to hold his brother's body, hugging him tight and making the way to the floor softer. His hands stroke his curls as the younger's face is buried in his chest, weeping incoherently, Sherlock's hand grabbing his shirt tightly, as when he was insulted at school and came home crying, looking for Mycroft to feel safe. A single tear runs down Mycroft's cheek at the sight of his brother, broken in his arms.

"I-I promise... I-I give you my word that we will find him. We're going to save him. I promise." says, his voice cracking. Sherlock's grip tightens, sobbing harder at his words. He thanks deeply an internally his brother for holding him once again. He just wants his John back...

-OoOoO-

Nights were the only peaceful moment of the day. His back seemed to hurt less, his sobs were more intimate, Sherlock seemed closer... The thought of having Sherlock by his side helps him, keeps him right, makes him survive for one more day. That dark haired man followed him into the dark every time he was forced into it. He closes his eyes and sees his figure, his hands cupping his cheeks, his soft lips against his...

His body aches and he hisses. The torture increases as days go by. His back and chest are marked with each of the agonies he has gone through every single day of his new life. As he does every night, he turns the lights off and, carefully, gets into the bed while, looking at the ceiling, talks. Talks about anything at all. He just needs to remind himself who he is, how he used to be before, how his voice sounds, how he acted when he talked with Sherlock... It makes the possibilities of going insane decrease.

"Do you know what I've thought? That, when we grow old and I become a grumpy old granddad and you become a still insufferable git who's bored and wants to go on adventure although his age doesn't allow him to, we could leave Baker Street, even leave London, and move to the countryside. All full of green, peace... Maybe you think it' a stupid and dull idea, but I'd love to do it. You could keep bees, like when you were a child. We could even have a dog, and call him whatever we want to. Gladstone. Redbeard. Who knows? And we'll have rows about not having taught him to pee outside when we discover he's done it in one of your experiments" he chuckles, sadly, at the thought. "You would blame me for that, for being such a _permissive mother_. And, if we have kids, our grandsons would come and see us at summer breaks, coming to play outside, filling the house with their laughs and happiness. And, when the winter comes, we could sit in front of the fireplace, together, watching crap telly or just being there, holding hands, happy with each other's presence... We could even make love, slowly, tenderly, having all the time of the world for us" his voice cracks at that last sentence, tears falling down once again, missing something that hasn't even happened... and that will never happen. "I won't be able to resist this for much longer, Sherlock. I'm getting weaker every day, and there will be a day when torture won't be enough for him." says, his breathing becoming less regular, his hands shaking. "Come and rescue me, please, Sherlock. Don't be late. I won't resist this for a long time..." He hides his face in his hands, giving up to his tears and loneliness, making the feel of having the detective close evaporate, coming back to reality.

He hits his head against the wall near the bed, angry at his thoughts. He was the one who told him, who begged him, not to come and save him. He is protecting Sherlock, and he will continue protecting him. His life doesn't matter. He's strong. He has to save his love. He has to fight until his breath stops and his heart aches, cries and dies. Although all the pain he would suffer, all the bad days, all those real nightmares... He knows that he would die with a smile on his lips. Because he would have known the love of his life, he would have fought for him and he would have saved him. He wouldn't have died without tasting his lips, or without saying how much he loved him. He would feel completed... He would die happy.

The door opens, suddenly, revealing the body of his captor. His stomach twitches at his mere presence.

"Get dressed and stop crying or I'll hit you again. We've got work to do."

-OoOoO-

He watches the video over and over, searching for a clue. A single clue on his face, on his talking, a secret code maybe... Anything. He has already memorised his words, how many tears he drops, in which second his shoulders begin to shake... He strokes softly the screen, trying to comfort him through the video, knowing it's a useless caress. His phone buzzes: unknown number calling.

"Hello?"

The phone nearly falls down as his jaw drops open, tears coming out without a warning. How could that be happening...?


End file.
